


You And Me Were The Dream I've Been Saving

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Rachel run into each other nearly a decade after high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You And Me Were The Dream I've Been Saving

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch hit for the glee_rare_pairs fic exchange on LJ.

It’s all because she saw his name in the paper and something about _Local Legend Sam Evans_ made it impossible for her to stay away. So here she is in a seedy bar in the bad part of town watching amateur hour while she sips on watered down vodka cranberries.

She’s never been to this side of the city, and it’s certainly not the sort of establishment she likes to frequent, but before she can chalk this up to a really stupid idea and hightail it out of there a voice is resounding across the room and her heart flutters a little with nostalgia.

“Hey all, I’m Sam Evans.”

It’s been almost a decade since she last saw him at their high school graduation, but he doesn’t look all that different. His hair is shorter, and he’s wearing a faded grey shirt with the letters _RTFM_ across his chest, his jeans ripped in all the right places and brown shoes are settled on the bottom rung of the stool he’s sitting on. There are black rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and thick leather bracelets hanging off his right wrist.

He’s talking about something, but she can’t really focus on the words because he looks... _good_. He looks really good. He’s grinning out at the bar patrons and running a hand through his hair before adjusting the worn brown strap of his guitar over his shoulder and plucking out a few chords.

Something about boys and guitars makes Rachel feel like she’s sixteen again and Noah Puckerman is perched on her bed smiling at her like she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. She’s always fallen in love too easily.

Three songs and just as many drinks later, Rachel’s seriously considering approaching Sam, but she’s not sure exactly how. Ends up not mattering because as Sam’s thanking the crowd for coming out, grinning against his microphone, his eyes scan the crowd and for the first time that night land right on Rachel’s, recognition flashing in them instantly.

Rachel’d like to say that time stopped, that sparks flew between them and a connection was solidified from her heart to his. She’d like to say all these things, to be able to regale friends with their epic tale of romance later in life, but in reality it was nothing like that.

In reality, Sam just set his guitar down on a stand behind him and jumped off the stage to walk across the bar towards her, a handsome grin on his face.

“Rachel Berry,” he greets, hands in his pockets.

She smiles, twirls her straw around in her drink. “Samuel Evans.”

“I was wondering if I’d ever run into you.”

“Big city,” she murmurs. There’s a warmth in her stomach that’s either from the vodka or the way his eyes are staring into hers, but she can’t decide which.

He shrugs. “Small world.”

She laughs as he sits down next to her and gestures to her glass. “Buy you a drink?”

“Yes please.”

He buys her another vodka cranberry and a beer for him and years later Rachel will say that the rest was history.

But it was a little more complicated than that.

\--

“So what are you up to these days?”

Rachel shrugs, smiles coyly. “This and that.”

“Broadway,” Sam says knowingly, this slight upturn to his lips.

“Soon,” she says, believing it with everything she has. “What about you? Trying to make it big in the music industry?”

He laughs, takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head. “Hell no. This is just for fun and a little extra cash. I work at a comic book store not too far from my apartment.”

She’s got her best consoling _you’ll make it someday_ face on, but he’s grinning widely when he adds, “It’s _awesome_.”

Trying not to look surprised, Rachel just smiles. “That’s nice.”

“Totally. The best is that I get first pick of all the stuff that comes into the store, and I basically get paid to talk to people about comics. Pretty sure there isn’t a better job in the city.”

Rachel’s positive she could name about five just off the top of her head, but she doesn’t. “Well, I’ll have to come see some time.”

He smiles at her, clinks his beer bottle against her glass. “For sure.”

\--

At the end of the night, Sam carries his black hard guitar case out of the bar, holds the door open for her, and hails her a cab.

He crouches down to reach through the door and hand the cabbie a folded up twenty and Rachel protests.

“Sam, I can pay for my own taxi ride.”

He just smiles at her. “Buy me a drink sometime soon and pay me back.”

\--

When she gets home the first person she calls is Santana Lopez because for some strange inexplicable reason they became friends after high school. Santana likes to refer to it as an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and Rachel’s given up on telling her that the concept itself is a paradox. Santana just thinks that’s all the more appropriate.

It takes four rings before Santana answers her phone with a gruff, “This better be good.”

“You’ll never believe who I just ran into.”

“This is not good,” Santana deadpans.

“Just guess.”

There’s a rustling over the phone and a mumbled _just a second, baby,_ before Santana’s talking to her again. “Sam Evans.”

Rachel gasps. “How did you know?”

“Because you didn’t just run into him. The ad for his gig tonight is sitting on your kitchen counter.”

“Have you been in my apartment?!”

“We ran out of tequila,” Santana answers.

“That’s breaking and entering.”

“I have a key. Can we move on to the point of this phone call because it’s like four in the morning and I'd like to be in bed for numerous reasons.”

“He looks good is all. I hadn’t seen him in a long time.”

“You fuck him or something?”

“No! Santana, don’t be crude.”

“You saw Sam Evans, good story. I saw Kurt the other day, you want me to tell you about that too?”

“You did? Wait no, Santana, I’m serious here.”

“Serious about what?”

Rachel chews on her bottom lip for a few seconds. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

“So what? He’s my ex too and you don’t see me calling you at four in the morning to bitch about it.”

“He’s hardly your ex, Santana. If I recall correctly you dated him to get back at Quinn and as a part of some harebrained scheme to get over Brittany.”

Santana scoffs and Rachel can just imagine the eye roll her friend his giving the phone. “You guys dated for like a week.”

It was _five_ weeks actually. Five weeks of perfect, careful romance. Sam was a gentlemen, and Rachel felt courted in a way she hadn’t ever before. But it was high school, and she was so single minded then. The revolving door of Finn Hudson wasn’t done turning yet and it wasn’t long before she was watching Sam’s face fall on her front porch as she broke up with him.

“Thirty-six days, nineteen hours, twenty-two minutes and about seven seconds actually.”

There’s silence for a few seconds. “You have serious mental issues. You know that, right?”

“Santana,” Rachel whines.

“So he’s your ex-boyfriend. You saw him tonight. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know...he looks good is all. He wants to go out for drinks sometime.”

Santana groans. “High school is going to end at some point right?”

Rachel laughs. “You’re one to talk. Who exactly is in your bed right now?”

“Shut up. Is there a reason you’re calling me aside from updating me on your boring ass life and asking me for advice about shit you’re smart enough to figure out yourself?”

“Not really.”

“Then goodnight.”

After Santana hangs up on her, she scrolls through the contacts on her phone, stopping at the newly added _Sam Evans_ entry. It takes her a few minutes to make a decision, but she eventually types out a quick text message.

_It was so good to see you tonight :)_

_got a gig this fri at eli’s on 5th. u should come._

She does.

\--

Three months later, she’s seen Sam perform at dive bars a total of fifteen times.

They fall into a friendship easily, and Rachel likes the casual atmosphere of happy hour at whatever hole in the wall Sam’s chosen that week. It reminds her of what it was like to sing just because she wanted to, just because it made her happier than anything else in her life.

Sam dedicates a song to “his good friend and future Broadway star Rachel Berry” every time, and it makes Rachel blush from her small table against the back wall.

Afterwards, when Sam steps off the stage, grinning and flushed from performing, Rachel has a cold beer waiting for him, and they sit for hours and talk about everything and nothing at all. It’s the most comfortable Rachel’s been with practically anyone and she’s not sure why it happened with Sam of all people.

\--

“Favorite movie.”

“Funny Girl,” Rachel answers without hesitation.

Sam laughs. “Dumb question.”

“Yours?”

“The Man With The Golden Gun.”

Rachel tilts her head curiously.

“James Bond,” Sam answers with a laugh.

“I’ve never seen a James Bond film.”

His jaw drops just a little before he’s shaking his head disbelievingly. “We’ll fix that.”

She likes the way that sounds.

\--

Rachel ends up at Sam’s comic store purely by chance. Or so she tells herself.

It’s curiosity more than anything that draws her to the modest storefront not two blocks from where Sam lives.

A bell clinks loudly against the door as she pushes it open and walks into the small space, the walls lined with shelves and shelves of books.

“Rachel?”

She turns her head to see Sam sitting on a chair behind a counter, his feet propped up and a comic book open in his lap. There’s a box of Red Vines on the counter, and she laughs at the piece of red candy hanging from his open mouth.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, shoving the rest of his candy in his mouth and standing. “What are you doing here?”

“I was passing by, thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“Hey, Sam, are you going to set up the tables for this weekend or should I?” A tall thin man emerges from the back of the store wearing a black sweatshirt with MINECRAFT in block letters across his chest. “Oh, customer.”

Sam laughs. “This is Rachel Berry. We went to high school together.”

“Pete,” the man greets, extending his hand.

She shakes it and smiles politely. “Nice to meet you, Pete.”

“Well,” Pete says, grinning. He winks at Sam. “I’ll go back and set those tables up, you stay out here and mingle.”

Sam rolls his eyes, laughing as Pete turns around and walks back the way he came from.

“He seems nice,” Rachel comments, striding towards the counter and leaning her elbows on it.

Sam hums noncommittally, shrugging. “He’s cool.”

“How long have you guys worked together?”

“Us? Probably the last six years. As long as I’ve been here. Pete’s worked here for way longer though.” He leans closer to her and lower his voice. “Everyone thinks Al’s going to give him the store when he retires, but if I play my cards right I think I’ll get it.”

“The store?”

“Yeah, to like run it. Rumor is Al is getting ready to hand over ownership. No way I’m missing my opportunity, you know?”

Rachel laughs a little, the sound short and abrupt. “You want to own this comic book store?” She looks around the small space, devoid of customers, with a critical eye.

“Hey, it might not look like much, but this is geek heaven. Every comic book junkie knows that we’re the place to hang out.”

“That’s nice.”

He swats at her with a piece of licorice. “It’s my Broadway, Rachel,” he jokes.

Rachel smiles, grabs the candy from his hand and chews on it. “There’s only one Broadway,” she says.

He just shrugs. “For you, maybe.”

\--

“You wear glasses now.”

Sam shrugs, laughs a little sheepishly. “I wore contacts in high school.”

She reaches over to touch the edge of the black frames. “They suit you.”

“You think?”

“Definitely,” she laughs, sitting back to pick up her drink and sip on the straw.

“I think they make me look like Clark Kent,” he says, pulling them off his face and pretending to rip his shirt open.

She smiles around the straw held in her teeth and lets out a little chuckle.

\--

The first time they really hang out together outside of Sam’s weekly gigs is a Thursday night when Sam invites her to a party he’s throwing for some of his friends. She’s two hours late because no one important shows up on time to parties, but she feels a little bad when Sam answers the door with a look of surprise on his face like he wasn’t expecting her to show up at all.

“You came!” Sam exclaims when he opens the door.

“Of course.”

He hugs her tightly, picking her up off the ground until she’s giggling into his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you a drink.”

Sam makes her a fruity cocktail because she’s never really acquired the taste for beer, and leaves her in the kitchen for a second while he goes to break up a fight in the living room.

Sam’s co-worker, Pete, stumbles into the kitchen and after fumbling with the keg for a few seconds looks up at her with a critical eye.

“Rachel Berry, right?” Pete sways a little unsteadily towards her, his beer tipping precariously close to the edge of his plastic cup.

“We’ve met more than twice.” Rachel’s gotten to meet a lot of Sam’s friends actually. They frequent his shows, and she’s taken to sitting with them sometimes.

He squints at her. “Right. Rachel Berry.”

She laughs at him. “Yes, Rachel Berry.”

“So you’re the one that broke his heart in high school.”

Rachel’s eyes go wide, glancing around for any sign of Sam. “Pardon?”

“The one that got away,” he says, waving his hand in the air.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that-”

Sam walks up to them at that, clapping a hand on Pete’s shoulder and smiling down at Rachel. “Hey dude, how you feeling?”

“Rachel Berry,” Pete says sagely to Sam, pointing at her.

Sam laughs. “Good job, buddy. What say we get you a cab?”

They call a cab for Pete, send one of Sam’s other friends, Mark, with him.

“Sorry,” he tells Rachel as he wraps an arm over her shoulder and walks them back inside. “This party got crazy.”

“I believe any good party is supposed to.”

He laughs. “I guess.”

She spends the rest of the night glued to Sam’s side and watching him mingle with all of his friends. She feels a little like his girlfriend, clinging to his arm while he tells his friend Josh about his plans for a _Constantine_ sequel. Especially when Sam puts his lips against her cheek before he goes to get them more drinks.

When the party dies down and the last few people are stumbling out his door, Rachel offers to help him clean up. She’s a little tipsy from drinking and she could use the time to kill her buzz before she has to walk home.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering.”

He stares at her curiously for a few seconds before grinning drunkenly. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

“That’s what I always say,” she replies coyly.

He snaps his fingers at her and laughs. “ _That’s_ where I heard it!”

She rolls her eyes and shoves him a little, but chuckles. “Let’s clean this place up.”

She moves to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, but Sam grabs her hand and tugs her towards him. “We’ll do it in the morning,” he says.

There’s an implication there that makes Rachel’s stomach flip over because here’s this guy whose heart she broke years ago without realizing it and he’s basically asking her to sleep with him.

“Stay over,” he says. “We can sleep off the alcohol and do it tomorrow, refreshed.”

She’s drunk enough to kiss him right now, drunk from alcohol and from the knowledge that he liked her enough to be affected by their breakup years ago. It’s messed up, she knows, but she can’t help it. This boy dated girls like Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez and she, Rachel Berry, was the one to break his heart.

He takes her silence as acquiescence and tugs her to his bedroom, throwing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt at her. With his back to her she changes quickly, and he strips his shirt off, swaying a little bit from his side of the bed.

“I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t be dumb,” he says, crawling on the mattress until he can wrap his fingers around her wrist. “We can share. We’ve slept together before.”

She doesn’t say anything as he pulls her down on his bed, and cuddles up behind her. His chest presses warmly against her back and she tries not to imagine the way his cleanly defined muscles look.

He tucks his head into her neck and wraps an arm around her waist and it’s not long before she hears the heavy sound of his breathing, relaxed in sleep.

She laughs at herself, forces her muscles to relax enough so she can sleep. It’s hard because he’s still one of the most attractive men she’s ever known and he’s half naked next to her in bed, but she manages.

\--

In the morning, she wakes to Sam mumbling something incoherent into her ear about Ewoks and she laughs a little at the way he’s still pressed up against her.

“Sam,” she whispers, turning her head slightly. Her fingers are tangled with his, their hands intertwined above Rachel’s collarbone.

“Sam,” she tries again. “Wake up.”

He groans a little, shifting to his back and releasing his hand from hers as he blinks awake. She laughs as she turns with him, propping up on her elbow to stare down at him.

“Hi,” she says as she squints up at her.

“Morning,” he replies, voice low and husky in a way that’s undeniably attractive.

“Sleep well?”

He smirks. “Next to you who wouldn’t?”

He’s got that voice that tells her he’s doing an impersonation, so she just rolls her eyes. “Time to clean up,” she tells him, laughing at the face he makes.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, standing. She tries to not to be affected by the way his abs look as he moves around the room, his fingers scratching at his stomach sleepily.

Pulling a shirt out of the closet, he turns to look at her and his expression shifts to something she can’t immediately identify.

She looks down at, observing the oversized clothing she has on. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling. “Nothing at all.”

\--

“Have you ever thought about submitting a demo tape to a record company? You have so many good original songs.”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t think they’re _that_ good.”

“I do.”

“Not good enough to get a record deal.”

“You’ll never know until you try,” Rachel insists.

“I’m comfortable never knowing.”

“Just try.”

Sam laughs. “Why are you so adamant about this?”

“Do you really want to be just another cover artist the rest of your life? You’re very talented, Sam. You could go places.”

“What’s wrong with singing covers? I like it, the crowd likes it. Who doesn’t like jamming to a favorite song? Rocking out to _Hey Jude_ and drinking cheap liquor. It’s the life.”

“Because that favorite song could be one _you_ wrote. It could be playing on the radio every day.”

“Rach, I’d rather listen to a Beatles song on the radio than one I wrote. Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes, but laughs when he starts doing his John Lennon impersonation.

\--

She invites him over for dinner a few days later, works an early morning shift so she can spend the rest of the day cooking.

“Wow you went all out,” he observes, sitting at her kitchen table and looking at the food spread over it.

“It’s a thank you for letting me stay at your place the other night.”

He laughs. “You stayed over to help me clean my apartment. I feel like if anyone should be cooking meals it should be me.”

She shrugs, gestures for him to sit down and passes him the first dish.

They eat in comfortable silence, Sam gleefully shoveling food into his mouth and washing it down with his beer. Rachel watches him eat with an amused shake of her head, sipping on her glass of wine.

“S’good,” he mumbles eventually, still chewing a little.

“I’m glad,” she says with an affectionate smile.

It’s when they’re standing in front of her sink, washing dishes together that she finally has the courage to ask, “Did you like me in high school?”

Sam looks at her strangely. “I asked you out didn’t I?”

“Do you like me now?”

He laughs at her, gives her a look she’s well familiar with. _You’re crazy_ , it says.

“I mean like me like me,” she says.”

“Rachel, I’m not the one that broke up with me remember?”

She kisses him before she can think about it, her hands gripping the lapel of his plaid shirt and pulling his lips down to hers. Nostalgia washes over her when he presses closer, his hands sliding around to the small of her back slowly.

“Rach,” he breathes out against her mouth.

“I like you too,” she says.

He stares at her for a tense moment before kissing her again, picking her up until her legs are wrapping around his waist.

How they manage to make it to her bedroom after that, Rachel’s not entirely sure. It’s a fumbled stumble through her apartment, fingers tugging at clothing and mouths fused together. He presses her into the bed, and just the feeling of him hard against her hips is enough to have her jerking towards him, nails biting into the skin of his neck. It’s been so long since she’s been with a guy that she’s afraid the minute he touches her she’ll be done.

They never had sex the first time they dated, but Sam’s hands on her bare skin is still familiar. He presses kisses down her abdomen until he’s settled between her legs, his hands reaching up to cover her chest.

Long pleasurable minutes later, she’s tugging his hair sharply, back arching as she comes against his mouth.

He smiles against the skin of her thigh, kissing a path back up to her mouth, and she moans as she tastes herself against his lips, his cock pressing insistently against sensitive flesh.

“Inside,” she demands softly, biting down on his lower lip.

He complies, pressing his hips down to spread her legs wider, and guiding himself to her entrance, groaning when he pushes slowly inside her. Everything goes hazy after that. Sam’s hands clench tightly at her hips as he thrusts jerkily into her, her legs wrap around him, arms twining behind his neck as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of her jaw.

When she comes again it’s with a strangled groan against his ear, her fingers tugging sharply at his hair, and his mouth against her neck, shaped into a smile.

\--

“Did I break your heart in high school?”

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I just...did I?”

Sam’s jaw clenches, but he shrugs nonchalantly. “We were young.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We were young, Rachel,” he says.

\--

A few nights later he shows up at her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a charming smile.

“Hi!”

“Hey. I bought you flowers.” He thrusts them towards her.

“I see that,” she says, grabbing them and smiling. “Do you want to come in?”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Sam blurts out, staring at her with wide eyes. “Again.”

Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle the giggle that bubbles up, and she manages just to smile at him, completely charmed. “Yes,” she says with little hesitation. “I would love to be.”

The flowers end up crushed between their chests when he picks her up and walks her backwards into her apartment.

\--

“Favorite sexual position,” he murmurs, his lips against her spine and moving lower.

“I don’t know,” she gasps out when his teeth bite lightly at the small of her back.

“How can you not know?”

“I haven’t exactly had a wealth of experience with which to make a decision.”

He laughs, hot air blowing against her already over heated skin. “I can help you with that.”

\--

They celebrate their five week anniversary because Sam jokes it’s only appropriate that they celebrate lasting longer than their first run.

They go down to this bar Sam frequents called Eli’s. He’s got a longstanding relationship with the owner, and he plays their acoustic hour ever Tuesday.

Their friends buy them drinks and even Santana shows up, hugging them both and demanding a round of tequila shots. “To Lips and Smalls,” Santana toasts with a smirk. “To five more weeks.”

Rachel hits her, but Sam laughs and she can’t deny how good it feels to be standing with a best friend and a boy that she’d never have imagined having when she was in high school.

Later, Sam kisses her on the cheek and tells her has a surprise for her. She watches curiously as he walks up to the stage and grabs the guitar that John, the owner, is holding out for him.

By the time, “I wrote a song for my gorgeous girlfriend and future Broadway star, Rachel Berry, and I’d like to play it for you,” comes out of his mouth, she’s blushing so furiously she has to hide her face in her hands.

\--

“Favorite song of all time.”

“High Flying Adored from _Evita._ You?”

“One For My Baby. Frank Sinatra.”

“A Sinatra song? Sam Evans, look at you.”

He smirks. “I can be classy too.”

Rachel runs her fingers over the picture of Han Solo across his shirt and laughs. “You can be.”

\--

Neither of them make much money, but they make do.

Rachel teaches him how to cook vegan meals on a budget, and he teaches her how to steal internet and cable from her neighbors.

They learn a lot about each other. Sam likes to play a round of _Call of Duty_ every morning before work wearing nothing but his socks. On the weekends he hosts a _Magic: The Gathering_ tournament that he participates in - he wears his lucky shirt and insists its why he’s never lost. He listens to Incubus when he plays _World of Warcraft,_ but switches to Sublime when he plays _Starcraft._

Suddenly, Rachel starts to find some of his stuff in her apartment - a comic book here, a dragon figurine there, his lucky shirt hanging off the handle of her closet door. She gets used to his little quirks and they start to become something comforting in her life - steady, reliable.

It’s not like she doesn’t have quirks of her own. Every Wednesday night she watches _Funny Girl,_ and every Saturday night she watches _Evita._ Sam doesn’t even blink an eye, just tells her about how he watched _The Mummy Returns_ every Friday afternoon it was in the theater so he understands.

He takes her to a Bogey and Bacall marathon in the park one weekend and they snuggle together on a blanket, Rachel mouthing along with the dialogue on screen. Sam laughs at her, puts his lips against her temple and hugs her tighter.

The weekend after, Rachel buys the boxset of Indiana Jones movies and presents them to Sam over dinner. “Teach me your geek ways,” she jokes.

He chuckles and grabs the dvds, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her soft and slow. “You trying to seduce me?”

She’s not, but his lips are against her neck, hips tight against hers, so it’s not a side effect she’s going to shrug off. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” Sam laughs out.

They put the first movie on, but they don’t watch it.

\--

“Do you want kids?”

“Two,” Sam answers. “Twin boys.”

Rachel laughs. “That’s specific.”

“I want to name them George and Lucas.”

She laughs harder at that, shoving him playfully in the shoulder, but tells him that’s fine as long as she can pick the middle names.

He grins wide and nods. “Who else?”

\--

She tries not to let rejection get to her, but it does sometimes. She knows it’s part of the process, that few people just show up in New York and make it big on a Broadway stage, but she can’t help that little girl inside her that thought she’d be the exception.

Sam finds her crying on her couch one afternoon, and moves quickly to wrap her in his arms.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t do anything but put his lips to her hair, rocking back and forth and whispering _everything is gonna be all right._

“What if I never become a star?” The question is hurried and soft like if she says it too loud, it’ll come true.

“You will,” Sam reassures her.

“But what if?”

“You can’t think like that.”

“I’d do anything,” Rachel says. “Anything. I want it so badly.”

“I know,” Sam murmurs against the top of her head. “I know. That’s why you’ll make it.”

He makes love to her on the couch, tells her she’s gorgeous and perfect and when he’s inside her, his hand running down her side and lips against her ear, she believes him.

\--

“Favorite thing to do on a weekend.”

Sam closes the comic book he’s reading and smiles at her. “Be with you.”

A slow grins spreads over her face. “Yeah?”

“Duh. What about you?”

She doesn’t answer, just closes the distance between them and kisses him firmly.

\--

Six months rolls around and they celebrate with cheap champagne in paper cups.

On the balcony of Sam’s apartment, he plays her songs on his guitar. Some funny, some serious, a few of them favorites of hers that he’s learned over the last few months.

Then he gets this serious look in his eyes even though he’s still smiling. “Wanna play you a song.”

“You just played me an entire set list, Sam.”

He laughs. “This one is important.”

She sits up, her hands in her lap and a closed mouth smile on her lips. “Okay.”

With a wink, Sam plays around with the strings of his guitar for a few seconds before opening his mouth and starting to sing one of her favorite Beatles songs. “You’ll never know how much I really love you.”

When he gets to _I’m in love with you_ his face is devoid of amusement and his eyes bore seriously into hers.

She tells him she loves him too because she does. Whispers it against his mouth, her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

When they’re in bed later, his palm resting on the overheated skin of her abdomen, she says it again, voice lazy and warm. “I love you.”

He smirks. “I know.”

She smacks him on the arm, but laughs because she can recognize his Harrison Ford voice.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Just always wanted to say that.”

“I love you,” she repeats, putting her palm against his cheek and smiling.

He winks. “I love you too.”

\--

“Favorite part of New York City?”

Before Rachel can answer, he puts a finger up and adds, “Apart from Broadway.”

Her mouth snaps shut on a smile, and she muses for a second. “Central Park then. What about you? The store?”

He shakes his head, laughing.

“What then?”

“You.”

Rachel thinks she must have never been truly loved before because it’s never felt quite as good as this.

\--

Sam tries to get her to perform with him on stage at Eli’s, but she always refuses. She’s Rachel Berry and she’s better than amateur hour in a bar that serves $2 pitchers until 4am.

She goes to audition after audition instead. Listens to rejection voicemails, and reads rejection letters and when she ties her apron on at work every day tries to act like she still has hope.

\--

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Superman.”

Rachel laughs. “No seriously.”

He looks at her, amused. “We are grown up, babe.”

Rolling her eyes, Rachel flops back down on her bed dramatically. “I refuse to believe that.”

“I know you do.” He moves to hover over her, swiping brown hair off her forehead.

“Question amended,” she states.

“Proceed.”

“Dream job.”

“Own the comic book store,” he says easily. “Or Superman.”

“Your dream job is to own the comic book store?”

“Or be Superman.”

“That’s it?”

“Uh, Superman has x-ray vision, he’s faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a hundred men-”

She kisses him before she spends the rest of her night hearing all about why Superman is the greatest DC Comics superhero to ever exist.

\--

Rachel’s wanted Broadway long before she knew to want anything else. As a kid it was practically all she could see. She knew to want Broadway before she knew that it required wanting New York City.

So, all things considered, it’s the longest relationship she’s ever had, the only one she’s been truly faithful to.

It seems high school’s not over because not only is she falling for the same guys over and over again, but she seems to be making the same mistakes as well.

His name is Aaron and he comes into her restaurant with an air of confidence around him that instantly draws her to his table. Smiling up at her, he orders her favorite meal on the menu and it’s only when she sets it down in front of him that she realizes why he looks so familiar.

“Oh my gosh,” she can’t help but say. “You’re Aaron Burke.”

“The one and only,” he answers.

“Oh my gosh,” is all she can seem to say.

“And you are?”

“I’m sorry, of course.” She extends her hand to him. “Rachel Berry, future star.”

He laughs at that, but it’s not mocking. She smiles. “Nice to meet you Rachel Berry, future star.”

A blush settles in her cheeks. “You too, Mr. Burke.”

“Aaron is fine,” he responds. “Future star?”

“Broadway star. I’ve been destined for the stage since I was in my mother’s womb.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. It’s where I’m meant to be and I’ll do anything to get there.”

Arching an eyebrow, he smiles up at her. “Tell me, Rachel. Boyfriend?”

The, “No,” is so automatic that she doesn’t realize she’s said it until hours after they exchange numbers and agree to meet for dinner next week.

\--

“Best on screen kiss of all time.”

“Spider-man probably.”

She gasps. “But Spider-man is a Marvel superhero! ”

He stares at her for a long moment, silent.

“Did I say something wrong?” She asks.

“Do you have any idea how hot it was that you just said that?”

She laughs. “Yeah?”

“Come here and kiss me,” is all he says.

He goes down on her for the next hour, and after she’s able to breathe again she makes a mental note to brush up on more nerd knowledge.

\--

She meets Aaron Burke for dinner because she keeps her appointments, but she has the full intention of setting things straight, telling him she has a boyfriend and she shouldn’t have agreed in the first place.

But he takes her to the nicest restaurant she’s ever been too, orders a bottle of wine that costs more than her rent, and orders food like he’s reading poetry. It’s the fantasy she’s had since she was thirteen right across the table from her.

So she keeps her mouth shut, tells herself it’s fine to enjoy the meal as long as she makes it clear to him it’s only a one time thing.

It’s not until he’s kissing her, arm wrapped around her waist and tongue stroking against hers, that she remembers to do so.

“I’m sorry,” she sputters, pushing him away and shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She puts her arm up for a cab and tries to ignore his confused questioning. “Rachel?”

“I’m so sorry, Aaron, dinner was lovely, thank you so much. I just have to go. I’m sorry.”

When she quietly walks into Sam’s apartment later that night, she finds him already asleep in bed. She strips her clothes off and slides between the sheets, her hand moving over his chest until it’s slipping under the waistband of his boxers and gripping his cock.

He wakes up pretty quickly after that and she smiles a quick hello before ducking her head between his legs.

When he asks her what exactly possessed her to wake him up with a hand job, she gives him a tight smile and fights guilt in her heart. “No reason,” she says quietly, loving the way his hands are moving across the small of her back.

“No complaints from me,” he laughs.

\--

She calls Santana and tells her to meet her for drinks the next day, lasts all of five minutes before, “What do you think constitutes cheating?” drops out of her mouth.

Santana, now used to this kind of stuff, just arches an eyebrow and orders two shots from the bartender. “Sam cheating on you?”

“I’m asking you what you think cheating is.”

Santana shrugs. “You fuck someone else when you say you won’t I guess, why?”

“So kissing isn’t cheating?”

“Rach, what’s this about?”

“I’m just curious. I mean you slept around a lot in high school.”

“Nice,” Santana says with a roll of her eyes.

“I just mean, I was wondering what you think counts as cheating.”

Santana looks her dead on. “When you want to be with someone else, and then you do something about it.”

\--

“Where do you see yourself ten years from now?”

Rachel takes a sip of her vodka cranberry, curls her foot around Sam’s ankle and smiles. “Star of a Broadway show, signing autographs at the stage door, winning a Tony, etc etc.”

He takes a swig of his beer and laughs. “Room for me there?”

“Of course,” she answers, running her foot up his leg affectionately. “What about you?”

“Ten years from now?”

“Yeah.”

“Running the comic book store, maybe writing my own comic, sitting front row at some Broadway theater watching you awe people, escorting you to awards shows, crazy celebration sex, building a trophy case-”

His words get cut off by her mouth against his. “I love you,” she mumbles.

“I know.”

“Don’t forget, okay?”

“I won’t.”

\--

Sam walks into her apartment and before even saying hello to her asks, “Why did Santana just give me the third degree about cheating on you?”

“She what?”

“Santana just paid me a visit and she was all,” Sam screws his face up into a scowl. “If you’re two timing my girl Rachel you better drop that shit now before you hurt her because I will mess you up, you hear? Except with more expletives and graphic threatening.” His face changes to one of confusion. “Do you think I’m cheating on you?”

“No!” She walks up to him, shaking her head vehemently. “No of course not.”

“Then why does your best friend think that?”

“Santana thinks everyone is cheating. She has zero trust in monogamy.”

“I find that hard to believe considering she’s been in a monogamous relationship for like _ever_.”

“I don’t think you’re cheating on me,” she says firmly, her hand running up his chest to wrap around his neck. She leans up on her toes to kiss him.

“I wouldn’t,” he tells her, hands gripping her hips. “I promise.”

Guilt twists in her stomach. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“I love you”

\--

“Did you yell at my boyfriend about cheating on me?”

Santana’s sitting at her kitchen counter spooning cereal into her mouth when Rachel bursts into the apartment.

“Knock much?”

“I have a key,” Rachel snaps. “Why did you yell at Sam?”

“I thought he was cheating on you!”

“So?!”

“Can you lower your voice? I have a hot girlfriend asleep in my bedroom and I’d rather she not wake up to the sound of your screeching.”

“Santana!” Rachel bites out angrily, but softer than before.

Santana drops her spoon into her cereal bowl and shoots Rachel a pointed look. “Look, Smalls, I get that you’re not used to this friend thing or whatever, but I’m not just going to sit around and let you get hurt.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Do I act like I care whether you need me to or not?”

“He’s not cheating on me,” Rachel says, deflating.

“I know.” Santana’s expression goes dark. “So whatever is going on with you? Figure it out before you do something you regret.”

\--

Aaron calls her often. Leaves voicemail after voicemail asking for an explanation, pleading to see her again, telling her that he’d love to talk about some job opportunities.

She tries not to enjoy the way he’s pursuing her after just one date, but she can’t help how flattering it feels. The idea that her dreams are just a returned phone call away get to her - just a few dates with a charming man and she could be on a Broadway stage. For a few dark moments she contemplates the idea of dating him just for that purpose. Sam would understand. These are her dreams. They’re bigger than both of them.

But she hears him making promises to be faithful in her ear, whispering _I love you_ in the dead of night and she knows he’d never understand.

She uses the guilt that swirls in her gut to stamp the feeling down and deletes his voicemails from her phone.

\--

“You’re phone is blowing up,” Santana observes dryly. “You gonna answer that?”

Rachel looks over to where her phone is sitting on the table to see a missed call from Aaron. The fifth this afternoon. She hastily swipes her phone off the table and shuts it off, sticking it in her purse before Sam can lean over far enough to see.

“Not important,” she tells both of them.

“Who was it?” Sam asks.

“My boss from the restaurant,” she lies. “Trying to get me to work an extra shift.”

Sam seems to accept that, but Santana narrows her eyes skeptically. “Your boss?”

“Yeah.” She nods.

“You don’t want the extra cash?” Santana ask innocently.

Rachel glares at her, but Sam speaks before she can, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and laughing. “My girl works too hard as it is. If she starts picking up more shifts, I’ll never see her.”

Santana stares at them both, clearly unimpressed, but Rachel just smiles sweetly at her before kissing Sam on the cheek. “Exactly.”

“Exactly,” Sam repeats, imitating her voice.

She rolls her eyes, but he pecks kisses on her lips until she’s laughing and Santana’s making gagging sounds from across the table.

Later, she listens to the voicemail from the safety of the girl’s restroom.

_Rachel, it’s Aaron. Look I’m still a little confused about what happened the other night. Just call me. I might have a part from you in a new show my friend is putting on. We could be good for each other, Rachel. Call me._

\--

Rachel wakes up to the sound of her phone ringing and has to lean over the bed to the floor of Sam’s room in order to find her purse and pull it out.

“Who keeps calling you?” Sam groans.

“No one,” she says quickly, wincing as she hears it. It’s probably the fifth exchange they’ve had like this. Sam asking who keeps calling her and the same lie slipping out.

“No one, huh?”

She slides back into bed and settles against Sam’s side, her hand running down his abs. “Just go back to sleep.”

Silence falls for a few moments.

“You’re not cheating on me, right?”

Heartbeat picking up, Rachel jerks up in bed and stares down at him incredulously. “No,” she says firmly. “What would even make you think that?”

He shrugs. “You’ve been acting sort of strange lately. A lot of weird phone calls from no one. A guy starts to wonder.”

“Sam,” she whispers.

“Are you?” He asks again.

“No,” she repeats.

He doesn’t look like he believes her, but he wraps his arms around her tightly and pulls her down into his chest. When he tells her he loves her it sounds so much like goodbye that Rachel almost starts crying.

\--

They break up with as much drama as Rachel could ever want out of a break up.

It’s pouring rain and they’re standing on the steps leading up to her apartment, both of them with tears in their eyes.

“Are you cheating on me?” Apparently the first twenty phone calls from no one were easy to dismiss. The next twenty made Sam’s suspicion came to a boil.

“For the sixteenth time, no.”

Wet blond hair is falling over his forehead, his grey cotton shirt clinging to his chest. If it were any other time, Rachel would be supremely turned on by the sight. As it is, there’s fear gripping her gut instead of arousal because Sam’s eyes say nothing but disbelief. “Rachel, please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m _not_ cheating on you,” she says vehemently and suddenly more words are spilling out of her mouth. “It was just a kiss.”

He laughs, but the sound is hard and bitter, beats against Rachel’s ears roughly. “So you are cheating on me.”

“I kissed him, Sam. That’s hardly cheating.”

“Interesting definition you got there.”

“Don’t be such a _boy_ ,” she snaps.

Jaw clenched, he observes her, blinking against the rain. “Fine,” he finally says, nodding as if deciding something to himself. “That’s fine. Just tell me one thing.”

She crosses her arms over her chest against the chill. “What?”

“Who is he?”

She considers not answering, but honesty comes out in the end. “Aaron Burke.”

“Aaron Burke? The dude on all the posters? That Aaron Burke?”

“Yes.”

“How did you even meet him?”

“He came into the restaurant one day. I waited on his table.”

Sam’s face is shadowed with anger and despair. “What the hell does that guy have that I don’t?”

“Let’s not do this.”

“You fucking owe me this, Rachel,” he demands.

It makes her suddenly angry. “What does he have that you don’t? You couldn’t be more opposite if you tried.”

“Is that so?”

“Your greatest ambition in life is to own the comic book store down the street from your building, Sam. You’re happy getting paid dirt cheap for covering bad 90s songs at a bar that only serves two kinds of wine - red or white. Aaron is on Broadway. He has plans to break into Hollywood, to put his own album out, he wants to go places.”

Sam laughs darkly, interrupting her. “I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Hey, I should have known.” There’s anger on his face that she’s never seen before, his tone harsh and bitter. “I mean you’d do anything to get ahead, right? Who am I to stand in the way?”

She gasps. “I know you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.”

He shakes his head, laughs at her again and throws his hands up in the air, defeated. “Don’t tell me you think that’s not what this is about.”

“It just happened, okay?” She walks towards him, but he steps backward and puts his hand up. “He’s just, he’s so successful and ambitious and he understands the kinds of things I’m going through, what I want out of my life and it just...it just happened.”

“That’s fine,” Sam says, looking down. “That’s just fine. Hey, it was nice while it lasted.”

“Sam,” she pleads. “Don’t do this.”

“Someday you’ll get that my dreams are just as good as yours even if they’re not as big. I hope he’s worth it.”

“Sam,” Rachel whispers, but he’s already walking down the street.

\--

She shows up at Santana’s apartment a sopping wet mess, her mascara running down her face from rain and tears.

“What the fuck?” Santana ushers her inside, and grabs a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around Rachel’s shoulders before moving to turn the coffee maker on.

When Rachel’s finally wrapping her hands around a warm mug and Santana’s sitting down on the couch next to her, she takes a deep breath to try and stop her crying.

“Who do I have to kill?” Santana asks. The question is harsh, but it warms Rachel’s heart.

She shakes her head. “Sam and I broke up.”

“Why?”

“He...,” Rachel starts, but the words choke in her throat. “I cheated on him,” she whispers.

Santana’s silent, eyes narrowed, but face otherwise neutral. “You cheated on him.”

Rachel nods.

“That dude from the restaurant. The Broadway guy.”

Another nod.

“You’re such a dumb bitch,” Santana laughs out and Rachel gasps in indignation.

“That’s hardly the appropriate thing to say.” Tears are welling in her eyes again.

“Why can’t you just be happy with what you have?”

Rachel lets out a choked sob. “I don’t know.”

Shaking her head, Santana looks at her sadly before pulling Rachel into a hug. “I’m sorry you guys broke up.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah you did,” Santana laughs, continues before Rachel can protest. “You didn’t mean to break up with him, but don’t say dumb shit like ‘I didn’t mean to kiss another dude’ when it’s not like anyone forced you to do it. You didn’t trip and land on his lips. Take some fucking ownership here.”

Rachel’s silent for a few seconds. “What’s wrong with me?”

Santana laughs. “If I knew that, my life would be a lot easier.”

\--

He comes by a few days later to drop off a box of her stuff. She tells him she’ll bring him his stuff next week.

“I just want my guitar,” he says softly, pushing past her into the apartment to walk back into the bedroom.

Guitar in hand, he reemerges and gives her a soft smile. “I’ll see you around, Rach,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitant silence between them before he crosses over to her and presses a warm kiss to her cheek.

When he’s gone, she pulls his favorite shirt out of her closet and curls up on her bed. Listens to the _Evita_ soundtrack because it always comforted her, and cries against blue cotton for the next hour.

\--

She never calls Aaron back. Deletes his number instead and hates that it feels a little bit like her dream is slipping away. She wonders if she’ll ever start getting any of this right.

\--

It’s another four months before she gets her big break, but get it she does. A Broadway play, her first. It’s not a big part, but Rachel doesn’t care because it’s her dream and she’s finally achieving it.

The first person she calls is Sam. Doesn’t even think about it until the number is already dialed and he’s answering with a concerned sounding, “Rachel?”

A lump forms in her throat, her heartbeat picking up as she flushes in embarrassment. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah...I just...” Her throat closes again and she’s sure she’s going to cry. It’s been so long since she heard his voice.

“Rach?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not.”

“I got a part today. On a Broadway show.”

A beat.

“That’s great.” The happiness is genuine, if muted.

“I just, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“I’m really happy for you, Rach. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.”

“You’re finally achieving your dreams. Be proud.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Look, I’ve got to go. Good luck.”

He hangs up without another word. Rachel spends the next few hours crying instead of celebrating.

\--

“You need to date someone else, get over Sam,” Santana suggests.

“What if I don’t want to get over him?”

“Then fuck someone else just to stop you from being this unattractive mopey mess you are right now.”

Rachel picks her head up from the bartop and glares at Santana who just laughs. “You’re a mess right now. Sorry, Smalls.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“How did you do it?”

Santana slides a shot of tequila towards her. “Do what?”

“How did you get over Brittany back in high school.”

Santana goes still, her face full of amused confusion. “I dated Sam.”

“I meant aside from that, you ass,” Rachel laughs, shoving Santana in the shoulder playfully.

Santana laughs loudly. “I didn’t get over Brittany. _Obviously_. You don’t get over a love like that. It’s why you gotta fight so hard to keep them because when it finally works out...” Santana grins wider than Rachel’s ever seen her, this light in her eyes that makes Rachel’s heart twist.

“I could have had that with Sam.”

“Yeah well, you screwed the pooch on that one.”

“Santana,” Rachel whines.

“Look, you made a choice. Either correct it or live with it.” Santana looks at her pointedly. “Now shut up and take your shot.”

\--

She dates the male lead in the show she’s in and part of her thinks that things are finally looking up. His name is David - he’s tall, dark haired and so many things Sam isn’t. She tries not to make the comparisons, but it’s hard.

It’s everything she always imagined she’d have. David is the leading man she always assumed she’d be dating at this point and it puts her one step closer to her dream of becoming one half of a Broadway power couple.

She tries not think about how much that dream has gone fuzzy around the edges - the tall dark and handsome leading man giving way to a well muscled blond dork that smiles at her like she’s his whole world.

Achieving stardom is all about sacrifice. And sacrifice is something Rachel’s always been willing to do. Even if it’s happiness that’s being offered up for slaughter.

\--

The show goes well, but it doesn’t go great. It’s exhilarating to be a part of her first production, but it’s not the whirlwind of fame she thought it’d be. She makes next to no money and hears _but you’re getting great experience_ so many times that she might punch the next person that utters it.

It ends, as all things are apt to do, and Rachel’s back to where she started.

The last day of the show, she catches David sleeping with one of the dancers in the costume closet. Strangely, she doesn’t cry about it.

“You’re just too...intense,” he tells her. “I’m sorry. We would have never worked out anyway. We’re headed different places. It had to end sometime.”

She doesn’t cry, but she does slap him. The drama of it makes her feel grounded.

\--

“Why do I always destroy everything good in my life?”

Santana chokes on her wine, barely catching herself from spilling over the white table cloth. “What?”

“Every time I’m happy, I destroy it.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Davey-boy fucking that chick had nothing to do with something you did.”

Rachel swallows thickly. “I’m not talking about David.”

Santana stares at her for a moment. “Sam?”

All Rachel can do is nod, heat spiking in the back of her eyes.

Santana shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Why do I make so many of them?”

“You love the drama.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Rachel sighs, bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what to do at this point. I’m so lost.”

“Smalls,” Santana coos, reaching over and grabbing Rachel’s hand. “You’re doing fine. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not as epically as I do.”

Santana laughs. “Of course you’d think you make bigger mistakes than anyone else in this world.”

Rachel gives her a pointed look, but breaks into a chuckle a second later. “What’s the matter with me?”

“It’s not the falling down that matters,” Santana says, and it’s probably the most serious Rachel has ever seen the other girl. “It’s how you get up afterward. Nothing is wrong with you. Learn from this stuff and move on.”

“I’m still in love with him,” Rachel says softly, swirling her wine around in her glass.

Letting go of Rachel’s hand, Santana leans back and laughs, picking her wine glass up. “No shit.”

“What do I do?”

“Get up,” Santana says plainly.

Rachel rolls her eyes. “I meant more practically.”

Santana laughs. “I’m serious. He’s playing at Eli’s tonight. Get up and go.”

Wide eyed, Rachel stares at Santana’s amused face. “Are you serious?”

“Come on, you fucking live for this shit. Can you imagine how dramatic it will be when you fucking bust through the doors and stare at him across the room all _I want you back_ like?”

Santana’s mocking her, but Rachel can’t deny that part of her thrums with excitement at the very image.

“You think I should?”

“No I’m just saying you should because I love talking. Get the fuck out of that seat and go.”

\--

The thrill of a dramatic entrance buzzes over the surface of her skin as she closes her hand around the dirty handle of Eli’s front door. Slowly, she pushes it open and steps into the warm air of the bar, her eyes darting straight for the stage across the room to see Sam setting up with his guitar.

Years later, Rachel will talk about how this moment _is_ just like the movies. How Sam’s movement halts completely, his guitar strap half over his shoulder as his eyes connect with hers.

She stands in the back, her feet crunching on peanut shells that litter the floor as she stares pleadingly at Sam. It’s not long before he’s setting his guitar down, mumbling a quick apology to the crowd and jumping off stage to walk towards her.

The first thing out of his mouth when he reaches her side is a concerned, “Is everything okay?”

She swallows thickly, kicks herself for not scripting a speech before she showed up. “Every thing’s fine. Sort of. It will be.”

His eyebrows shoot upward. “Rach.”

She steps towards him, closer than she’s been to him in a long time and looks up into his eyes. “Sam, I love you.”

He swallows audibly, jerks back a little and looks at her warningly. “What are you doing?”

“My show ended,” she explains.

“I know.”

She blinks up at him, surprised. “What do you mean you know?”

He sighs. “Why are you here?”

“I got this part in this show, and it’s over and I...”

“Want me back now that you don’t have that,” Sam finishes for her.

“No,” she says vehemently.

“Yes. I ain’t dumb, Rachel. I know you pretty well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“Then what?”

She swallows thickly before speaking. “I got everything I always thought I wanted and it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel good because...” she reaches out to run a hand down Sam’s arm, fingers pulling lightly against the fabric of his sleeve. “It didn’t feel good because you weren’t there.”

Sam’s not speaking, but his expression has softened, so she continues. “I always felt like I needed Broadway. Like if I didn’t have it I’d die, but Sam. I don’t. I swear to you I don’t anymore.”

“Rachel,” Sam croaks out, his eyes looking glossier by the second.

“I need you, Sam. Broadway will come and it will go, and I need to stop acting like it’s any different. I need _you_ , Sam.”

“You don’t need anybody,” Sam corrects, smiling sadly. “You’re Rachel Berry.”

“Maybe so,” she concedes, shrugging a shoulder. She looks up at him. “But I want you. More than anything else.”

“I’m happy you feel that way, Rach, but...”

It’s the worst word to hear and her stomach plummets.

“Sam, don’t.” It’s so reminiscent of their breakup that it’s almost funny.

“I can’t, Rach. I’m really happy for you, but I can’t do it again. You feel this way now, but a few months from now...”

Hot tears fall over her cheeks, her eyes pleading with him to change his mind. “Sam, no. We can do this. I can do this now.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper. He presses a warm kiss to her lips, the taste of their tears mingling between them. “I’m sorry.”

He breaks away, picks his guitar up, and walks past her.

\--

“This is good,” Santana is saying over the phone. “Now you can truly move on and leave his sorry ass behind.”

“I don’t want to move on,” she whines, sniffling against a tissue. Sam’s favorite Sean Connery film is playing on her television and she’s a sobbing mess on her couch, half a bottle of wine on her coffee table and tissues everywhere.

“I’m going to need you to stop crying, Smalls.”

“I can’t,” she sobs. “It was supposed to work!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes life isn’t exactly like the movies.”

“It should be!”

Santana laughs. “Hey, look. Do you want me to come over? I’ll bring that crappy vegan ice cream you like and we can get drunk.”

Rachel considers it, but shakes her head and sighs. “No, that’s fine. I’m going to go to bed. The sun will come out tomorrow, right?”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay well text me if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

“Love you, bitch.”

Rachel chuckles, swiping tears from under her eyes. “You too.”

They hang up, and Rachel throws her cell phone onto the table, pushing back into the cushions and focusing on the television across from her to see Sean Connery talking to Nicolas Cage. She hates this movie. Hates it. But it was Sam’s favorite, and she’s seen it probably fifteen times. For a second she fantasizes breaking the DVD when she’s done with it, but before she can put thought into action the doorbell is ringing.

Laughing, she gets up and pads to the door, amused curiosity on her face. “Santana, I told you I was fine-”

Her words choke in her throat as the door swings open to revel not Santana, but Sam. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jeans, and he’s wearing a different shirt than earlier - this grey cotton t-shirt that she loves on him. Black rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, and just as always it makes her stomach flutter in attraction. He smiles at her like he didn’t just break her heart little over an hour ago and rocks back and forth on his feet.

“Hey,” he says.

Hastily, she wipes her hands over her cheeks and rearranges her hair. She’s sure she looks like a complete mess.

“What are you doing here?”

Sam shrugs, looks down the hallway to his right before looking back at her, a soft expression on his face. “I want to be over you,” he says. “I really, really, really want it.”

Tears brim in her eyes again, and she runs her fingers over them quickly, stomping her foot a little in frustration at her emotions as she looks down at the ground. “We already went over this, Sam. Honestly. I get it.”

“I want it, but I’m not.”

Her head whips up to look at him. “What?”

“So, I’m still in love with you. Like epic Han Solo Princess Leia love and I just...”

A cautious grin spreads over her face.

“You’ve broken my heart twice now, and I don’t want it to be a third, but I...” He shrugs, laughs a little. “I’m still in love with you. And I’m never going to be that Broadway dreamboat you always wanted, and we probably won’t be your perfect Broadway power couple or whatever, but I-”

Rachel shakes her head, curls her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t need that,” she says firmly. “I just need Clark Kent,” she jokes, bringing up a finger to touch his glasses.

He smiles joyfully, wraps an arm around her waist and brings their bodies together. He brings his other hand up to whip his glasses off and stares down at her. “How about Superman?”

Picking her up, he kisses her and carries her into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. She laughs against his mouth the entire way to the bedroom.

\--

In the morning, Sam sits naked on the edge of her bed, pulls his guitar over his lap and sings _Danny’s Song_ to her with a smile on his face. She wants to tell him that this song is about a girl getting pregnant, but she doesn’t. He’s grinning, and singing to her, and she’s impossibly in love with him.

“ _Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey_ ,” he sings, winking at her.

If he doesn’t finish the song it’s because she’s too happy to wait until the end to kiss him.


End file.
